


Angel Hustler (Dialogue Prompt: "Are you challenging me?")

by bluest_skies



Series: Daily Destiel Drabble - Destiel Smut Brigade [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas is a little shit, M/M, bets for blow jobs, mention of smut but no actual smut in this one, the boys play pool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 13:27:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3730618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluest_skies/pseuds/bluest_skies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Isn't it customary to make a wager?” Castiel asked.</p>
<p>Dean pulled a face. “Dude. Do you even have any money?”</p>
<p>“Well, no.” Castiel patted his pockets. “But we could wager something else couldn't we?” </p>
<p>“Like what?"</p>
<p>"Oral sex?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel Hustler (Dialogue Prompt: "Are you challenging me?")

**Author's Note:**

> For the Daily Destiel Drabble at destielsmutbrigade.tumblr.com

“Why don't you check out the room, Sammy...see if there's any good marks.”  
  
Sam nodded and finished off his beer. “Yeah alright.” He stood, stretched, then slowly made his way through the bar towards the pool tables.  
  
Dean sat quietly, peeling the label from his own beer bottle. He had really started to hate hustling, but honestly it was the best way to get some quick cash. He glanced over at Cas who was watching Sam weave between the tables.  
  
“You ever play pool before, Cas?” Dean asked.  
  
Castiel shrugged. “I've seen it played before. I have noticed though, that Sam is the one who always plays for money. Are you not very good at pool, Dean?”  
  
Dean snorted. “Sam's just better at reeling the marks in with those puppy dogs eyes, that's all.”   
  
“I didn't mean to offend you. It's okay if you're not a good player.”  
  
“Dude, what are you even talking about? I'm fucking _great_ at pool alright?” Dean narrowed his eyes at the angel. Either he was crazy or Cas was smirking at him.   
  
“I was just merely pointing out that it's fine if Sam is better at this than you are. It's perfectly normal to be bad at something,” Castiel offered   
  
Dean stared at Cas, whose lips were slightly quirked up at the corners. Little shit.   
  
“Are you challenging me or something? You wanna go? Cause I am _totally_ game to kick your ass at pool.” He stood and shrugged his leather jacket off. “Come on, smart ass.” He made his way to the pool tables, not even checking to see if Cas was behind him. He had a feeling Cas was baiting him, though he wasn't sure why, but he just happened to be in the mood to let himself be hooked, his body full of restless energy.  
  
He pulled cue sticks off the wall until he found one that suited him. When he turned around, the balls were already racked on the table. Cas had removed his trench coat and jacket, shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Dean regarded Cas suspiciously.  
  
“Y'know what? Why don't you go ahead a break,” Dean said, gesturing towards the table.  
  
“Isn't it customary to make a wager?” Castiel asked.  
  
Dean pulled a face. “Dude. Do you even have any money?”  
  
“Well, no.” Castiel patted his pockets. “But we could wager something else couldn't we?”   
  
“Like what?"  
  
"Oral sex?"  
  
Dean's pool cue clattered to the floor. "What?" He was still getting used to the idea of thinking about Cas in...that way. Sure they'd made out and done the occasional handjob, but...  
  
"If you win, i will give you oral--"  
  
"No, dude, I heard you, just..." Dean stepped to Cas and said between clenched teeth, "You can't just blurt that stuff out in public, Cas."  
  
"My apologies. So, if the terms are agreeable?"  
  
"Yeah," Dean said, snatching his cue off the floor. He was going to kick Cas' ass anyway. "Just break."  
  
"Of course." Cas brushed past Dean, plucking a cue stick from the rack on the wall. Dean tried (and failed miserably) to ignore the jolt of electricity that ripped through him at that brief contact, knowing that later, a much more intimate contact would occur. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. Not that Cas would push him on it. Cas was pretty good about that, knowing when to back off. And oh god, look at him bent over the pool table. How did he never notice how fantastic Cas' ass was? And the muscles of his forearms flexing, the cue stick sliding between his fingers. He called to mind the last time Cas' fingers were wrapped around his cock as Dean thrusted up into Cas' hand, voice urging Dean on, the windows of the Impala foggy.  
  
The cue ball clacking against the other balls derailed Dean's thoughts and he watched as one by one, stripe after stripe landed in random pockets until only the solids were left.  
  
"I believe I have to declare a pocket and shoot the eight ball now, right? Dean?"  
  
"How did-- did you just-- you can't use your angel mojo, Cas!"  
  
"You said you were agreeable to the terms. And you didn't say that wasn't allowed," Cas pointed out as he moved around the table. "Side pocket," he murmured, pointing to the left with his stick. 

  
Dean, still reeling, his mind going from heart pounding excitement to mind blowing terror, watched as Cas leaned over the table, face full of concentration, eyes calculating. A face that Dean sometimes found himself on the receiving end of. 

The cue stick glided between Cas' fingers slowly, pulling back to take his final shot. Just before the tip made contact, Cas changed the angle, the cue ball skittering to the side, bouncing off the three ball, the nine, and into the right corner pocket.

"Hmm," Cas said, lips curling up into a sly smile. "I believe that means I lose." 


End file.
